


the industrial capabilities of relationships: a perspective

by snakebait



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, Strangers to Lovers, london based, mid 1920s era, pianist!taekwoon, writer!hongbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 09:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18150092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakebait/pseuds/snakebait
Summary: He doesn't know how he’ll find his flat from the station but that's for a future him to worry about, just like he’s been telling himself for the past few months. He should have planned this out better but after he had decided to leave, it had been hard to change his mind. His mother had asked him to stay, to figure things out before he made any drastic decisions but Hongbin has a dream. He needs to achieve it, sooner rather than later.





	the industrial capabilities of relationships: a perspective

**Author's Note:**

> just a disclaimer: this probably isn't that historically accurate in terms of what was actually going on in london at the time i placed this. i am australian and come from a war family so its different for me, even as i write this. i mean this as no harm to anyone, it is purely a work of fiction and my knowledge of the post war times of the UK as well as australia.
> 
> there's no descriptions of war or anything like that hence why i didn't put warnings on this. i should hope this causes no harm to anyone <3

This isn't a love story.

God, that sounds cliche, doesn't it?

Hongbin isn't even sure what story it will be but as he stares at the train ticket in his hand, a one way trip to London, he can't think of anything, can’t focus on anything but the squeak of the tracks and the chugging of the incoming trains. No words are coming to him like they usually do, he's not painting a landscape with his poetry in his head, his imagination in a cage too small for even an insect. He’s a writer but his vocabulary has been stolen from him, just from a tiny train ticket.

He's a Northern boy with a love of writing that doesn't fit his upbringing. Where he's from, the words are clipped when they're spoken, slang used in place of something articulate and beautiful. It’s not dirty, Hongbin would never think that, but it’s not familiar despite it being all he’s ever heard. He’s never been good at expressing himself in his own language because of this reason, too afraid to speak out like the South and let his mind roam free. But with the train ticket in his hand and his hair buffeting off his face as the trains speed past, he takes a breath before it’s stolen from him again. 

He should be scared and he is. So scared, he’s almost choking, but it’s not everyday that you're struck with the incomprehensible urge to leave your hometown, leave everything you've ever known, to go to the city and explore your horizons. He’s been saving money for this trip since he was eighteen but only a month ago had he finally decided that now was the right time to go. Hongbin’s legs are shaking just from the thought but he bought the ticket, he earned the money, he's the one with a makeshift backpack and suitcase that's got all his clothes in it and a shoulder bag with his papers and his pencils. 

The train sounds from a distance and startles him, wide eyes spotting a steam train just down the line. The train pulls in and Hongbin steps onto it with quivering legs and a fast beating heart, having no one to wave at and cry when he leaves because his sisters are busy and there’s not a chance his mother would come and stand in a smog infested train station for him. There’s no one to kiss his cheeks and wish him well and he isn’t sure if he prefers that or not.

It’s bittersweet in a way, lovers kissing each other goodbye on the platform when Hongbin looks out the window. He doesn't have anyone to bid him farewell but this is his one and only chance to take to make his dreams a reality, as cliche as it sounds. If it didn’t work out, he’d come back home with a pocket full of nothing and a mother who wouldn’t say _I told you so_ with his mouth but with her eyes, making it all the more worse. 

Hongbin takes a breath, his train filling up steadily and he keeps to himself as people fit into the seats next to him, smiling and nodding politely. He's still shaking but tries to dial it down when a woman sits next to him, checking her makeup in a small hand held mirror. He shouldn't disturb her and he doesn't know a thing about what she's doing but she looks pretty, patting her cheeks and touching her lipstick occasionally. She catches him looking and smiles when he flushes red and looks away.

It’s a long ride to London, the train chugging along the tracks as fast as it can and he falls asleep for most of it, a large bump startling him awake after some time. The woman next to him has already left and he's alone again, clutching his backpack to his chest for a pillow and to keep it safe. He can’t afford to use any of his belongings and his suitcase overhead is still in sight, his nerves settling when he spies it.

He could write but all he wants right now is some water and a bed so he’ll have to suffer for a little longer. His face is dusty already and he needs a bath but that's a long time coming, his heart beating to the bounce of his leg. He's lucky London isn't humid or he’d be sweating for a very different reason; it’s supposed to be cold when he gets there and he hopes it stays that way. He doesn't know how he’ll find his flat from the station but that's for a future him to worry about, just like he’s been telling himself for the past few months. He should have planned this out better but after he had decided to leave, it had been hard to change his mind. His mother had asked him to stay, to figure things out before he made any drastic decisions but Hongbin has a dream. He needs to achieve it, sooner rather than later.

It is surreal in a way to think that Hongbin is sitting with almost all of his belongings in just two bags. Back home, he had saved up for a typewriter but that had ended with more money to move and he prefered simple ink, even if it was cheap as all hell, on paper or really, any material he could find. He wrote on his skin when he ran out of paper and in retrospect, it didn't serve him any good but it had been nice on the skin of his wrist to see his own writing there, even if his handwriting was awful. Journalism was his first passion before poetry stemmed from it, his diaries held together with old hay string and ink staining his hands like always. He had tried to clean himself this morning but black still dotted his hands, in the places that were obvious but even with his hands as clean as he could get them, his clothes were a dead give away. His cleanest white shirt still had its cuffs blotted with black and while he didn't mind, he was positive whatever boss he would meet definitely would.

Hongbin takes a deep breath to calm his heart, his intrusive thoughts making him over think. Moving from the north to London is a big thing, don’t get him wrong, but it won’t be worth it if he’s thinking about home the whole time and worrying about what his life was like before. He's doing fine, chipper even. He can do this, he can get London and live in the big city like he's always dreamed of. Once he gets to his apartment, he’ll be set to go.

Hongbin drops his face into his bag and groans.

God, he's going to fucking go crazy.

 

***

 

The train station is a lot bigger than back home. 

Carrying his belongings isn't hard, he made it so it wouldn't be, but he's still shaking like a cold baby and his question of whether or not London is warmer than back home is answered as soon as he steps off. It’s raining which he expected but the rain seeps into his hat before he can do anything and escaping under the roof of the train station is his only option.

The station is busy and he gets shoved when he stops to read the signs, trying to figure out what side he should leave so he can direct himself from there to his apartment. People don't wait for him and he's pushed forward, straight to the ground.

People seem to stop when he's on the ground, going around him to avoid his papers but they don't give him the benefit of not stepping on his materials with their muddy shoes. He gathers them quickly to avoid anymore heartbreak but there's a puddle of mud on his diary and he sighs, sitting back on his heels. People can move around him for all he cares. He's annoyed, tired and hungry and he doesn't care about the curses thrown his way when people have to detour.

“Awh, kid.”

Hongbin looks up so fast he almost gives himself whiplash and sees a man, handsome and gruff with a five o’clock shadow but he's young, clad in an ironed suit and hat. There's a cigarette behind his ear and everything about his appearance is monochrome except for his skin, bronzed and smooth despite the stubble.

“Guessing you're new here, huh?” he says and Hongbin takes his papers from the man, taking care to tuck them back into his bag. His diary isn't ruined but the man scraps his hand over it and flicks the dirt to the ground.

“London doesn't wait for anyone, so you best get off the floor.” He stands up, helping Hongbin too. He doesn't seem to mind the dirt on his hand and neither does Hongbin but this man looks _rich._ He should care, his rings are dirty and stained now but the man smiles at him, close mouthed.

Hongbin slips his diary back into his bag and sighs, brushing off his pants. People are clearing around him and the man takes his cigarette out, flicking a lighter out of nowhere and lighting it. It’s just them for the moment, until another train of people show up and whisk them apart.

“From the North?” the man asks, offering his hand. “I’m Kim Wonshik. First time or you already got a job?”

Hongbin takes his hand and shakes his head. “Lee Hongbin, and no.” He doesn't admit to this obviously rich and successful man that he doesn't even know where his flat building is because he’d rather not be laughed at but Wonshik clicks his tongue at his words and raises an eyebrow, almost in a twitch.

“Well, just find yourself a job, you know?”

Hongbin certainly does not _know._ Wonshik standing here with his professionally rolled cigarette and five o’clock shadow doesn’t even know him but he does know this city, probably better than anyone else. Hongbin can’t even look up at the buildings without straining his neck but he’s positive Wonshik can. He’s handsome, as far as handsome goes, brutish with muscle that makes you wary. Compared to Hongbin, he’s _rich,_ with his silky black hair, slicked back with a fragrant gel that Hongbin will never get his hands on.

“You a poor boy?” Wonshik asks, blunt. Hongbin notes that his left eyebrow is scarred, right above the arch. “Come to the city for a chance at the big leagues?”

“I can work,” Hongbin defends, holding his bag to his chest. He must look like a school boy compared to Wonshik but he’s determined. “I’ve worked my whole life, sir.”

“Sir?” Wonshik laughs, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and dusting off his hands. When he speaks again, it’s around the stick. “Kid, how old are you? You can’t be a day over nineteen, if you ask me. How’d you even get here?”

“I’m twenty-two,” Hongbin snaps. He fishes out his papers and shoves them at Wonshik, stunning the man.

Wonshik scans the papers and blinks, his grin flattering a little. “Alright. You’re the same year as me. But I’m February.” He winks at Hongbin and sets off, leaving Hongbin to grab the papers in the air. “A job is easy with that resume! But have a little fun first, won’t you?” He looks over his shoulder, down at Hongbin who’s on his knees with his bag, wide eyed and innocent. “You’re young and not yet in love, so mess around.”

Hongbin opens his mouth to reply but Wonshik is walking away, his heels clicking on the ground of the train station. He scowls and grabs his papers, fingers halting at the sight of a card, small but somehow weighty in his palm.

 

_KIM WON SHIK - 1903_  
SONGWRITER, ARTIST -- LONDON.  
+44-XX-XXXX-XXXX 

 

Hongbin contemplates throwing the business card away but Wonshik might be someone handy to keep in his pocket. He’s definitely rich, he’s _got_ to be rich. Hongbin tucks the card into his pocket, fixes his left suspender and stands up, wondering how the hell he’s going to find his damn apartment.

He manages on the account of a very helpful child and her mother who ends up walking to him to his building. The mother’s smile is kind and she wishes Hongbin the best of luck in the big, bad city, waving at him as he climbs the stairs. Compared to Wonshik, she’s much more preferable even if Wonshik didn’t really do anything to hurt his feelings. He’s tired from the train ride and meeting a personality like Wonshik had been a lot all at once, even just for brief moment. 

His flat isn’t the best, certainly not rich, but it will do. It’s a one bedroom, probably only three times the size of a broom closet but it’s what he settled for. He only needs a place to sleep and the landlord had given him an old telephone in the rent out of courtesy. It’s not like his belongings will take up a lot of space and he places Wonshik’s card next to the telephone that sits on the stool by his single window. His bed is a double, purely so that he could fit himself and his journals on it and work from there. It’s not the most ideal but it’s what he could afford and he’s made a lot of sacrifices for his dreams already; a desk wasn’t too big of a deal since if he runs out of space in his journals, he just writes all over his hands and arms. He’s had to hide his thighs from his mother after coming in from the summer heat, his legs covered in ink and his hands smudged with black. 

He sets his clothes under his bed, still in the bags he brought. There’s no use unpacking them if he has nowhere to put them and when he finally lies down, he sighs. His shoulders hurt from his shoulder bag and now that he’s in his flat, he can finally relax. It took a lot to get him here, his own perseverance and using all the people who told him no as fuel. He has a lot of experience from back home, working in bars and waiting on tables. It won’t be easy to grab a job out of thin air but he’ll do anything to stay here, to keep himself afloat. He has enough money stored away that will buy him a ticket back home and money on top of that that he’s been saving since he was eighteen from odd jobs around town. He’s comfortable with his expenses; he just has to keep an eye on them and make sure he gets a job in the next few weeks.

He needs to sleep. That's his next course of action and it comes surprisingly easy. With his legs over the edge and his body stretched out in a T shape, he falls into slumber. It’s not the best sleep but it’s the best he’ll get for a while. He needs to get a broom in here soon to get rid of the dust or he's going to have more problems than the smog in the city.

For now, he sleeps, letting himself sink into his matress, deadweighted and lost to the world.

 

***

 

Sleeping doesn't last long.

Hongbin hears the sound of his window being jiggled and for a moment, he chalks it up to him being sleep deprived but the sound continues. He can't see much, can't even see three feet in front of him but he sits up in the dark and rubs his eyes profusely.

He really hopes he's hallucinating or rather-- he hopes he's _not_ because if his brain decided that a tall man unhatching his window and climbing through was a good idea to present him, his brain would be _wrong._

Hongbin doesn't think. 

He launches himself out of his bed and jumps onto the man’s back. His arms wrap around his neck and squeeze while his legs wrap around the man’s waist. He should have planned this out just a little bit because the assassin, thief -- _whatever_ \-- is a lot stronger than he thought but the man does grunt and shift under Hongbin’s weight.

“I’m _not_ in the mood!” Hongbin yells in his ear, making the man jerk in his grasp and Hongbin suddenly drops away only to kick him in the back, towards the window. He's never been in much of a fight but the room is small and if he doesn't act now and get the upper hand, he's going to be sorry in a few seconds. “Leave me alone!”

The man stumbles but turns, able to grab Hongbin’s wrists and shoves him against the door, hushing him with soothing _shhhhs_ and Hongbin does fall silent, wide eyed and afraid.

“Relax,” the man says, his voice deep and he's not wearing a mask, his face young and somehow innocent. “I’m gonna let you go, okay? Don't hit me again. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“If you won't then can you leave?” Hongbin breathes as he's released, about to punch him again but the man shoots him a glare that makes him cower. He's easily overpowered and they both know it.

“You ask a thief to leave your flat?” he snorts, looking around. He shrugs, scratching his head in such a boyish manner that it almost makes Hongbin coo at him. “Besides, if I wanted to rob you, don't you think I would have done so by now?” He smiles at Hongbin, shaking his head. “I use this way as an escape route. Didn't think anyone would ever move in here.”

“I still want you to leave.” Hongbin can't help his bluntness; he wanted sleep and now he's not getting it. “My flat is off limits. I live here.”

“Awh,” the thief smiles, sly. He moves towards the window and props it open. “Why would you live here, though?” He raises an eyebrow before clicking his fingers comically. “Poor, huh? Aren’t we all? I’m Sanghyuk, by the way. Don't tell too many people.” He winks and then he's gone, a cloud of black disappearing out into the night. 

Hongbin ducks his head out the window but Sanghyuk is still there, hanging onto the window sill. He grins up at him and offers his hand.

“I should slam the window on your fingers,” Hongbin growls but takes Sanghyuk’s hand and shakes it. “I’m Hongbin. Now, leave me the fuck alone.”

Sanghyuk smiles, letting his hand go quickly. He lingers a little while longer before looking up at Hongbin, smiling cheekily. The writer squints at him but sighs, pulling back from the window and the thief climbs back in and settles himself against the window, a safe distance away from Hongbin who sits back on the bed. “We should all make friends with our neighbourhood burglars.”

Hongbin huffs a laugh, flicking on his bedside lamp. Sanghyuk are bathed in yellow light, turning brown eyes amber and Sanghyuk is broad shoulders and he’s impossibly _long._ He smiles at Hongbin, innocent and big. “Yeah, my choices are really one to follow.”

“You’re strong, though.” Sanghyuk loosens the fabric bunched around his neck. He sighs, glancing out the window. Hongbin doesn’t ask him much but there is one question burning him, despite everything. Sanghyuk could probably kill him at any given moment but he’s still here, keeping his distance from Hongbin. Are all city dwellers like this? Boastful and proud like Wonshik or scavengers like Sanghyuk?

“Do you live in this building?” Hongbin asks, though it comes out more as a demand.

Sanghyuk nods, sheepish. “This room is never rented out to people so I’ve been using it as a sneak in to get to my flat. No one has lived here in the entire time I’ve lived here but I live across from you.” He’s uncomfortable, almost and Hongbin sighs, leaning back into his bed. 

Sanghyuk takes Wonshik’s card and snorts at it. He puts it back down and makes his way to the door, Hongbin not bothering to rise and wish him well. He glances once at him before smiling. “See you around. Keep your window unlocked and maybe I’ll leave you a gift every now and then.”

“Never come to my apartment unannounced,” Hongbin spits but smiles when Sanghyuk nods to him and leaves, locking the door behind him. Hongbin falls asleep soon after he hears the jiggle of Sanghyuk’s keys in his door.

London is mystery to him already.

 

***

 

A week later, after Hongbin has explored and looked around the city, he’s holding Wonshik’s card in his hand and squinting at it.

He’s been job hunting for the past week as well as dipping into bars just for fun. No one has given him much feedback but he’s not ready to give up. He’s look into newspapers as well as bars and waiter jobs, looking at clubs for managing or bartending jobs. He’s trying where he can and hoping for the best, eager to get back on track and have some money trickling in. 

He sucks in a breath when he rings in Wonshik’s number, letting it ring and when the man picks up, he finds himself smiling.

 _“Come down to a bar I know,”_ Wonshik says, smile in his voice evident. _“Let’s have fun, kid. You been busy?”_

“No job calls,” Hongbin says. It’s easy to talk to him, even if they barely know each other. Hongbin needs a friend that’s not back home and Sanghyuk hasn’t come by since they met. He’s not lonely but he’s feeling a little homesick. He’ll hit a wall soon with writing, he knows, but until then, all he can do is work and see what he can find.

 _“Awh, London’s like that, especially after the war.”_ Wonshik clears his throat and there’s a click of a pen in the background. _“Come down and meet me. My mate is playing so we’ll have a good time. Get to know each other.”_

“Sounds good,” Hongbin laughs, penning down the address when Wonshik recites it. He might be late, he warns, because he barely knows the city but Wonshik assures him that it’s fine, that he should look for a bookstore, instead of a bar. They hang up and Hongbin decides that he shouldn’t dress too fancy but should still be on show.

But stepping into the bar shouldn’t make him nervous but it does.

He only left his apartment to put his resume out and to get food. The city is distantly familiar to him now but he’s still confused by it all, especially now since Wonshik had told him to come down to a bar he’s never heard of and it’s underneath a fucking bookstore. During the day, it’s a bookstore, pretty and ancient with novels and plays but at night, you can go through to the end of the hallway entrance and there’s a bar underneath, almost a club but still far from it.

It’s not old or new money, really, but it’s not the scene of the Roaring Twenties that he’s used to. The city is big, bustling and happy and the bar is too, but it’s more quiet, booths a little secluded and off to the side. There’s a stage, a piano on the side and round tables lining the floor in front. If you want to watch the performance, feel inclined but if you want to sneak off to the booths and relax there, have at it.

Hongbin tried to dress nice and he think he looks okay, tan trousers that fit him well with black suspenders and a white buttoned shirt. The collar is open because he doesn’t want to choke himself and when he steps into the bar, he’s glad he didn’t button it because the cigarette smoke in the air is pungent and makes him catch his breath.

Wonshik is at the bar, rolling a cigarette while a bartender tends to him with a glass of whiskey. Wonshik is a handsome man and even more so now, in the yellow light of bar. His skin is tanned and smooth, his jaw square and his five o’clock shadow is gone. He looks younger, his hat from the train station misplaced and his shirt untucked. His tie is hanging on by a thread and when he catches sight of Hongbin, he grins at him as he beckons him over.

“Didn’t think you’d actually come,” he laughs, sparking up his lighter. “Got some other friends coming tonight so I can’t hold your hand, alright? If you need me and I ain’t answering, you come here, okay?”

Hongbin blinks at him, nodding. He doesn’t know why that’s so important -- Wonshik doesn’t look like he’d be mixed up in dangerous things but then again, Sanghyuk didn’t look the type either. Hongbin has a lot to learn in the city, it seems.

“So, you’re a northern boy?” Wonshik asks even though he already knows, leaning back on the bar with his elbows. In any other case, Hongbin might actually be attracted to him but Wonshik hasn’t given him a lot of reasons to make his heart flutter. That, and he has a feeling Wonshik’s got half the town around his finger which he doesn’t find too appealing. “Is it colder up there?”

 _You really don’t get out, do you?_ Hongbin frowns, looking down at his hands. The bartender knocks on the wood of the bar and Hongbin orders a gin and tonic. “Yeah, it’s worse than London. I’m guessing you’ve never left the city?” His accent clips his words a little, even when he tries not to.

“Never a reason,” Wonshik says, smiling at him. The smoke around him hazes Hongbin’s vision but just makes Wonshik look all the more alluding. “When the war hit, I wasn’t old enough to serve. Some of my mates did, though and my father went. Came back fine but the town wasn’t the same back then.” He turns over, copying Hongbin’s stance by leaning on the bar. “If the war hadn’t stopped, one of my mates would have been called to serve. I would have hated it without him.”

“You got many friends?” Hongbin asks, glancing at him. Wonshik probably knows half of London.

“No more than the average bloke,” he grins, nudging Hongbin with his shoulder. They met only a week ago, haven’t even spoken during that time, and yet it’s comfortable in the strangest way. Their age seems to be the only thing they have in common but it’s easy enough to talk to a London man like a Northern boy. Hongbin knows little to nothing about the city and having Wonshik, born and raised and lived through the war with him, makes things a little easier.

They talk until there’s a lull, both of them getting drunker and drunker but slowly. When the piano starts up, Hongbin’s ears and cheeks are flushed pink and Wonshik is shaking his head with his eyes closed, smiling around his last cigarette. He looks at Hongbin and hooks an arm around his shoulder, dragging him to the tables that are closer to the stage. He shoves him into a seat and falls into his own, waving Hongbin off when he starts to protest. There’s not many people here which isn’t surprising because they’re under a bookstore but there’s a few scattered around, a few friends sharing a few beers. It’s warm and comfortable.

“That’s my mate,” Wonshik says suddenly, pointing at Hongbin and then at the piano player.

Hongbin may be drunk but the piano player is _gorgeous._ He’s got long black hair, pulled into a ponytail and his eyes are lined with black, making them sharper than they’d usually be. Wonshik is keeping his hands to himself, but he’s vibrating in his seat like a giddy child. He looks incredibly proud and he rakes his fingers through his hair, Hongbin’s drunk mind following the movement.

“Jung Taekwoon,” he whispers and _Taekwoon_ starts to play, his fingers pretty and glinting with rings that are probably fake but Hongbin can’t take his eyes off him. He’s not wearing anything flashy, just a skinny tie and white button up, loose vest framing his broad shoulders and Hongbin watches his arms flex under the tight rolled up sleeves, Taekwoon’s eyes darting over the keys until they close, his experience doing the work for him. He’s in his element, even if his element is something Hongbin isn’t familiar with; he doesn’t know him but his music tells a story, bringing him in closer and making him reel.

It’s a slow song, something Hongbin didn’t think would come but it’s making him sway, Taekwoon’s voice higher than he’s used to but all the more beautiful. His voice is _loud_ too, despite sounding so light. His notes are pretty and fluid, his voice carrying when it needs to through the microphone and the bridge shakes him to his core, Taekwoon’s voice lifted and angelic. Hongbin’s not an expert in music like Wonshik but it’s like poetry, a story of heartbreak being shown through Taekwoon’s voice. Hongbin is infatuated with it, Wonshik clapping once it’s over and the glare Taekwoon sends him makes Hongbin laugh so hard he falls off his chair.

His feet feel heavy with his boots on and Wonshik helps him up, the two of them grinning at each other and Wonshik touches his cheek, patting it once, twice, before sighing. “You’re gonna love it here,” he whispers and Hongbin nods without a second thought. He is going to love it. He already loves it here, even if he’s unemployed and hazy in the presence of alcohol.

Taekwoon is at the bar with his jacket over his arm and when he settles next to Wonshik, he slaps his shoulder. Wonshik wails like a kicked puppy and Taekwoon rolls his eyes, carefully scratching his eyebrow as to not mess up his makeup.

“Don’t clap,” he hisses, his voice even prettier when spoken despite his irritation. “That’s such a city thing to do. Don’t clap, you idiot.”

“I won’t congratulate you, then,” Wonshik mumbles back but Taekwoon pats his head cautiously, looking uncomfortable when Wonshik relaxes into it.

“It’s not like I played for a full house.” Taekwoon looks exasperated but he pulls his arms close to himself and orders with a flick of his wrist, clearly the bartender knowing his usual. It’s scotch on the rocks, something Hongbin didn't expect but it strangely fits. 

“One day,” Wonshik says, smiling at Taekwoon. He’s a little too drunk but he asks the bartender for a phone and Taekwoon sighs, as if on cue. He turns to Hongbin and beckons him over with a nod. Hongbin clambers into the seat, wobbly but Taekwoon seems to find that assuming. Hongbin likes his smile.

“Are you Hongbin?” Taekwoon asks, soft and away from Wonshik. “From the North?”

Hongbin nods dumbly, smiling despite himself. Taekwoon is intoxicating in a way he's never felt before, mysterious but open. “I am. You're Taekwoon, Wonshik’s mate.”

Taekwoon nods, glancing over at Wonshik who’s twisting the bar’s telephone line like it’s a lock of hair and smiling into the receiver like a love struck fool. Taekwoon looks down at his whiskey and purses his lips. He doesn't say anything more but Hongbin steps off his seat again, straightening out his slacks.

“You were really something,” he says and Taekwoon doesn't thank him, his blush saying enough. “I’ve never heard anything like it. Music like that isn't in the North, at all. I thought… you're really talented.”

Taekwoon looks at him, his cheeks aflame and all he does is shake his head. “It’s nothing,” he says meekly and Wonshik starts laughing from the side of the bar, hanging up the phone. Hongbin can't dwell on Taekwoon’s flustered cheeks because Wonshik hooks an arm around his shoulders and grins in his face.

“My boy is coming to pick me up,” he says, to which Hongbin blinks at him, confused. He figured Wonshik either had to be horribly single or married with three kids but he just looks at him with a smile. “Well, not my boy. My love. Should I call him that?”

“Call him what you want,” Taekwoon says, knocking back his drink and placing it on the counter. The bartender nods to him and he knocks once before grabbing his coat on the way out. Wonshik drags Hongbin out with him, grinning up into the sky.

“Jaehwan,” Taekwoon whispers to Hongbin and Wonshik whirls around, smiling at both of them as he shakes his hand. He's a lot drunker than Hongbin thought unless this is just how he always is. “Jaehwan is his boy.”

A taxi pulls up and the door opens easily, a man stepping out and he's pretty too, greeting all of them politely before drawing Wonshik closer by his scarf and kissing him sweetly. Wonshik smiles into the kiss but gets into the car without a goodbye, leaving Hongbin to wave from the sidewalk, Jaehwan ducking his to them.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, winking at Hongbin. “What did he call me this time?”

“My love,” Hongbin answers and he thought it would embarrass Jaehwan but the man only smiles, pleased. Hongbin is about to ask who he is even if it’s blunt but Jaehwan waves at them, climbing into the car. He hears Wonshik whining, Jaehwan hushing him cutely and they leave just like that, leaving Hongbin and Taekwoon to stare after them.

Hongbin turns and catches Taekwoon at the end of a shiver. Without thinking, he takes off his scarf and places it over Taekwoon, smiling as he rearranges it. The pianist watches him with faint interest, frowning slightly.

“It’s cold,” Hongbin says, simple. 

Taekwoon nods but doesn't say anything. They walk together, Hongbin taking in all the buildings that he hasn't seen in the light of the moon. The streets are quiet and when Taekwoon flicks out his wristwatch, Hongbin realises it’s two in the morning. 

He steps onto the road just as it begins to rain and smiles at Taekwoon over his shoulder. The rain continues, speeding up and it’s on the verge of pelting them but even when Taekwoon’s makeup begins to run, they're still walking on the road, only moving when cars drive past. Hongbin asks how hard it would be to get a free ride to which Taekwoon shakes his head, telling him he’d be lucky to find a free taxi driver in this city. 

Hongbin talks the most, even if he deems himself quiet on a normal day. Taekwoon barely utters a word unless Hongbin asks a question that he has to answer with more than a nod or a hum. He doesn't really mind Taekwoon’s silence. It’s oddly fitting to him.

“You really don’t talk much, do you?” Hongbin says when they’re nearing his flat. He had been leading the way and Taekwoon hadn't left him yet so he hopes he's having a good time, at the very least.

Taekwoon stops in his tracks and looks at him, his eyes sharp and alight, gleaming almost in the moonlight. “Would you prefer it if I spoke more?”

Hongbin doesn’t comment that he likes his voice and instead shrugs, holding his hands out. Rain still falls but a little lighter than earlier and Hongbin looks up at the sky, taking in the night with a sigh. He closes his eyes when rain blocks his vision, hanging off his eyelashes. “If you want to, you can. But don’t talk because you think you have to.”

“You’re a queer one,” Taekwoon says suddenly and Hongbin looks at him, frowning. The pianist smiles and sniffs a laugh, his eyes cast across the street and the collar of his jacket peaking up to hide his mouth. “I don’t live far from here so I best be on my way.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Hongbin says, polite. He bows, still a little drunk but not from the alcohol and Taekwoon smiles at him, shaking his head. He hands Hongbin a card, his details written in neat cursive on the back. _Jung Taek Woon, singer + songwriter + pianist._

“Telephone me when you make it home,” he says softly, staring into Hongbin’s eyes when he looks up. “Be sure you won’t catch a cold.”

“I think I might,” Hongbin smiles, knowing his dimples are showing from the way Taekwoon glances at the sides of his cheeks. “I forgot a scarf.”

“I can’t offer you mine,” the pianist retorts, tilting his head as he squints at Hongbin. “I’ll have nothing to walk home in the rain in.”

“Well, then it’s just my luck, isn’t it?” Hongbin’s smile is easy where Taekwoon’s is not but equally beautiful in their own way. Taekwoon is back to his mask of cold indifference but his eyes hold a fire Hongbin didn’t see earlier that night. He waves when Hongbin steps up the stairs, his face tucked into Hongbin’s scarf. He wonders when he’ll get it back. He knows he doesn't care that much so long as Taekwoon keeps wearing it.

He waits an hour before he calls Taekwoon, the pianist picking up with a soft, Good evening.

“I’m safe,” Hongbin says even though Taekwoon watched him go upstairs.

 _“As I hoped.”_ He sounds amused. _“Goodnight, Hongbin.”_

“Can I see you again?” he blurts and Taekwoon doesn't answer immediately.

_“Even if I don't talk?”_

Hongbin smiles. He knows Taekwoon can hear it in his voice. “I don't mind, so long as I can see you.”

 _“I’ll see you soon,”_ Taekwoon says, chuckling softly. _"Goodnight, Hongbin.”_

 

***

 

The manager of the bar said he’d call him back but Hongbin doesn't want to go home right now. 

He contemplated ringing Wonshik and asking him to come down and meet him but he's pretty sure Wonshik has a job and he doesn't want to disturb him. Taekwoon spoke to him on the phone this morning, telling him he was working tonight as well so Hongbin sits alone in a bar that's just shy of being classed as full. He's not lonely, really. Just bored, in a way. He needs a job to keep his mind busy. He's been in London a month now.

He saw Sanghyuk last night too, the thief climbing through his window and waking him up only because his feet got caught on the window sill and fell into Hongbin’s flat rather than passing through it. Hongbin had stayed up and helped him dress the pretty little nick in his eyebrow because Sanghyuk had hit the edge of Hongbin’s bed. 

He sighs into his glass, watered down cheap whiskey, and knocks it back. He's far from being drunk but the alcohol is starting to make his blood sing and he smiles at his glass softly.

“One might think you and it are lovers,” comes a voice and Hongbin turns, finding a man who’s the prettiest he's ever seen and he's the one dreaming of Taekwoon when his mind lets him.

“Your lipstick is pretty,” Hongbin blurts and the man’s eyes widen, his fingers touching his crimson lips and he smiles, his teeth beautiful and white, shining against his tanned skin. His skin is more bronzed than Wonshik’s, his body more feminine, curves and hips that Hongbin would think anyone would want to touch. His hair is hanging in his eyes, black and silky and Hongbin wants to push it out of his eyes so he can properly stare at him.

“Thank you,” the man says and his voice isn't as high as Taekwoon’s but it’s music to anyone’s ears. He’s dressed simply but everything hugs him in the right way. Hongbin would stop himself from staring but he's pretty sure this man is basking in it.

The man smiles at him, his hair glossy and pretty. He’s lithe, almost like a dancer and he’s wearing heeled ankle boots and trousers. Suspenders are a little tight on his shoulders and his pants fit him well, high waisted and his shirt is tucked in, the cuffs pristine and white.

“You’re not from here, are you?” he asks softly and when Hongbin nods, the man offers his tanned hand, soft and graceful. He’s effeminate in a way Hongbin has never experienced. “Cha Hakyeon, lovely to meet you, sweetheart.”

“Lee Hongbin,” he replies, shaking Hakyeon’s hand. His lips are bright red, lined perfectly and Hongbin only ever seen that kind of colour on a woman. But Hakyeon looks dashing in it, his eyes lined tight with kohl and the bartender fills up his glass when Hakyeon knocks on the wood, like royalty being served. 

Hakyeon crosses his legs, resting his chin on his palm and his hand dances along Hongbin’s thigh, making him shiver. He doesn’t completely mind it, Hakyeon seems nice enough, but he stops him before he can any closer while they’re in public.

“I’m not-” Hongbin blinks, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to offend but I’m-”

“Not that kind of man?” Hakyeon says, suddenly bitter. He draws away, shaking his head but Hongbin holds his hands out where Hakyeon can see them, shaking his head too.

“That’s not what I meant, I promise you.” Hongbin takes his hand, relieved when Hakyeon doesn’t pull away. He looks skeptical but doesn’t retreat. “I’m… I’m just new and it’s not- You’re very pretty but I can’t.”

“Not into that?” Hakyeon offers and Hongbin stares at his lips for a moment before remembering he has to respond.

“I am, it’s just not…” He screws up his face, searching for the right words. “I’m not ashamed but in public, it’ll hurt. For us both.”

Hakyeon hums at him, drawing his hand away slowing just to make Hongbin shiver. “I’ve heard that before.” He sips his drink, a cocktail and his lipstick stains the glass. “But I understand. Someone’s on your mind?”

“Something like that,” Hongbin smiles, holding Hakyeon’s hand when he offers it. “I’m from the North.”

“Oh, Leeds?” Hakyeon smiles when Hongbin nods, affronted. No one has ever guessed before; all they go with is that he's out of town or new here. “It’s a good place to run away to.”

Hongbin finds himself agreeing. It’s not that his town was deserted or no one wanted to visit. It’s simply the North. Everything happens in London nowadays since the war, everyone trying to forget what horrors plagued the world and just have a good time while it lasts. War looks bad in media, anyways. 

“Did you serve?” Hakyeon asks, not unkindly. Hongbin shakes his head.

“I wasn't old enough,” he answers. “I was ten when the war hit, turning eleven. My father left and my mother refused to let me go too.”

Hakyeon squeezes his hand, nodding. “I was the same, only I was fourteen when the war came. My sister had just had a baby, too. If the war had have continued, I'd have gone to serve with my friend in the end.”

Hongbin doesn't have any nieces or nephews but he can understand why Hakyeon wouldn't want to leave them. Hongbin is the baby of his family, his mother fearing for him as soon as the world went to war with each other. Hongbin would have served if he had to, if the war have lasted until he was old enough but it’s lost now. He doesn't know the horrors of the war like a lover, like his father does. He knows that boys his age lied about their age to enlist. Another reason why he wanted to leave the North; to escape what plagued others as selfish as that is. 

Hakyeon squeezes Hongbin’s hand again and stands up, taking his coat from the back of the chair and kisses Hongbin’s cheek. He presses his finger to his lips, making a hush motion and smiles behind it. “Makes you look like a lass kissed you, so don’t worry. Everyone’s got a crush on Cha Hakyeon, sweetie. I’ll see you around, yeah? Good luck with your job hunt.”

“How’d you know about my job hunt?” Hongbin asks, dumb. 

Hakyeon winks and it makes his ears hot. “Saw you hand in your resume. Don't stress, you'll find something.” He points to Hongbin’s pants and he startles when he sees a card. All it has is _CHA HAK YEON_ and a number and Hongbin wonders why everyone is so eager to put their names on cards and hand them to random people. He's got Wonshik, Taekwoon and now Hakyeon and he didn't even ask. Well, he did ask for Taekwoon’s in a way.

“See you around,” Hakyeon smiles, his fingers dancing across Hongbin’s shoulders. He shivers and watches him leave, waving with his new whiskey glass in his hand.

He looks down and notices something with a squint.

Hakyeon didn't pay for his drink nor did he finish it.

Hongbin laughs. Of course he didn't.

 

***

 

A few weeks later, Taekwoon meets him just before the sun sets, in a restaurant Hongbin can't remember the name of and takes him home. Taekwoon was supposed to help him with the job hunt, knowing this city better than him but he's the one giving back Hongbin’s scarf and tugging him out of the bar.

“I can't go home,” Hongbin says but Taekwoon doesn't acknowledge it.

“You need a break,” is all he says, his hand warm in Hongbin’s.

Hongbin is too stubborn to be embarrassed of his flat being dirty but Taekwoon looks at it once before he door knocks and asks people for their brooms and cleaning supplies. Sanghyuk isn't home but he ducks in through the normal way while Taekwoon is beating Hongbin’s covers senseless. 

“Cleaner?” he asks, Hongbin sitting on the floor in the hall.

“No, but it’s a good quality,” he muses and Sanghyuk grins, smacking him on the shoulder. Taekwoon ignores both of them and invites Hongbin back inside when everything is a lot more clean and tidy.

“Why don't you unpack your clothes?” he asks, sitting on the bed. It squeaks a little but he moves closest to the wall and Hongbin lays besides him, closing his eyes.

“Got nowhere to put them.” His answer is what Taekwoon wanted but it’s what he gets. “It’s better than putting them all over the floor.”

Taekwoon hums, laying down with Hongbin and the writer smiles when the pianist holds his hand, cold fingers intertwining with warm. He's not entirely sure if Taekwoon knows the affection he holds for him but this is simple enough. Hongbin just likes his presence, likes being around him even if Taekwoon barely talks. It’s pleasant to be with him, doing whatever they want which apparently means cleaning his flat. Hongbin’s not complaining; it needed to be done and he probably wasn't going to do it anytime soon.

“If the smog didn't kill you, the dust would have,” Taekwoon mutters. When Hongbin looks at him, his eyes slip closed.

What feels like hours pass before either one them speak. It’s comfortable, just lying next to each other and relaxing, even if Hongbin’s bed isn’t the most comfortable. 

“I should be looking for a job,” Hongbin whispers, eyes still closed. “But I worry I won't get one.”

“You're a writer, aren't you?” It’s phrased like statement rather than a question. Hongbin hums and feels Taekwoon shift on his side to look at him. “Have you submitted to newspapers and such? Don't be daft and turn down being an intern. Money is money.”

Hongbin looks at him, forgetting that he should reply purely because Taekwoon looks pretty in the bedside light of his flat. His eyes have that fire that should be dimmed but it’s as if talking about Hongbin is giving him the light to hold. He's devastatingly handsome and Hongbin could write about him for hours, spit poetry about his hands while he plays piano or about the moonlight catching his skin and making him a walking fairytale, too much of a pipedream to share this reality with Hongbin.

“It is,” Hongbin says after a while. “But I can't press my luck into getting published. I need a job just for some extra money but no one is taking.”

“The war made the Lady sad,” Taekwoon says, laying back down. “London wants to forget. She’s trying to forget by giving the ones who served the jobs. She wants them to return to normal.”

Hongbin hums. “But you didn't serve and you have a job. Does Wonshik?”

“He does.” Taekwoon smiles to himself. “Jaehwan is old money turned young. And Wonshik has been working since he was thirteen. I moved to London when I was seventeen and I have never missed home. My sister came with me and then my mother, too. London gave us a new home.”

“Where are you from?” Hongbin knows he's not from the North. At least, not from where he's from. He doesn't sound it.

“Brighton,” he replies, turning his head to look at Hongbin. “I don't miss it. My life is London, now. With Wonshik and Jaehwan.”

“Do you love them?” Hongbin thinks himself stupid for asking but Taekwoon shakes his head.

“Well, I do. But not in the way they love each other.”

Hongbin ignores the relief that washes through him. He leans up on his elbow, watching Taekwoon’s face with tired eyes. “Are they together?” They seemed to be but Wonshik had denied Jaehwan to be his man but called him his love. It seems complicated.

Taekwoon looks confused even being asked. “They… do. They won't admit it for some reason but Jaehwan wants to marry him. But they both have someone else.”

“Open…?”

“Is it open if you are sharing the same man?” Taekwoon frowns. “Hakyeon has a special relationship with both of them.” At Hongbin’s wide eyes, Taekwoon laughs once. “Hakyeon is my best mate. I should have mentioned him before.”

“Cha Hakyeon?” Hongbin finds himself grinning. “I know him. Lipstick?”

Taekwoon nods, smiling too. “He and I met the first night I was here. I was nervous and he helped me to settle in.” He snorts at Hongbin’s jaw dropping, about to ask a question he's sure Taekwoon has answered too many times. “He slept next to me. I'll not fuck my best mate because of his job and certainly not for my own pleasure.”

Hongbin nods. He barely knows Hakyeon and he wouldn't dare insult him after how lovely he was to Hongbin, even after he refused him. Work like Hakyeon’s isn't uncommon but it isn’t spoken about publicly. It’s shamed, if anything, because men of higher status like to spit on those who need coin, no matter the profession. But they're the ones paying for the girls at the end of the day because their wives won't tolerate them anymore.

Taekwoon sighs, closing his eyes again. His hair isn't tied back this time and Hongbin wonders what it would look like if he braided it. Boys don't have long hair these days, not like him and Taekwoon. The war asked for shaved and as much as Hongbin’s hair annoys him sometimes, he couldn't think of shaving it. Taekwoon’s hair is longer than his, black and glossy whereas Hongbin’s is brown and fizzy in the summer. Maybe he should cut it, actually.

Hongbin lies back down and it’s surprising that he falls asleep. Taekwoon is next to him the whole time and he doesn't even wake when the pianist leaves as quietly as he can. When he wakes up, bleary-eyed and shaking his head to clear his cotton filled brain, he spies a note on top of his pillow, the one Taekwoon stole for the night.

 

_Hongbin,_

_Sorry for leaving so suddenly. I thought it inappropriate to stay longer but I did enjoy spending time with you._

_Telephone me soon. I want to see you again, so come to the bar again. The night we first met was spent well, and I'd like to do it again._

_Best wishes,_

_Jung Taek Woon._

 

Hongbin smiles at the note, checking the time and deciding to telephone him now, grinning to himself. Taekwoon picks up on the fourth ring and Hongbin’s heart starts to race.

 

***

 

Hongbin isn't surprised when Taekwoon plays _Nowadays_ that some people in the bar start to cry. _Dream_ was the first one of Taekwoon’s that he heard, the first night he met him and he finds himself taking a deep breath after every single one of the pianist’s songs to regain himself.

Wonshik is with him again tonight. When they've had enough for tonight, they’ll go back to Jaehwan’s flat, apparently. Hongbin agrees with Taekwoon now; he doesn't know how he and Jaehwan have not admitted anything to each other.

Taekwoon finishes and Hongbin stops himself from clapping even though he deserves it. He deserves the world bowing at his feet but Taekwoon slips in next to them and kisses Hongbin’s cheek in thanks. Thanks for what, Hongbin isn't sure. But Taekwoon’s arm around his shoulder is comforting and he melts under the touch.

They make their way to Jaehwan’s, Wonshik chatting too much about his not love. He talks of Hakyeon too, laughing at Hongbin’s meeting with him at point blank.

“The first time I met Hakyeon, I thought I loved him,” Wonshik says in the taxi, quiet and to himself more than anything.

“Everyone thinks that,” Taekwoon answers, leaning his head on Hongbin’s shoulder. He's not shy of his affection and Hongbin smiles to himself, content.

“Jaehwan thought it, too,” Wonshik laughs. “But it didn't go away for us, even with his job.”

“You're alright with it,” Hongbin says, rather than asks. Wonshik hums, drawing patterns in the fog of the window. Hongbin isn't sure what it is for a moment until Wonshik draws a massive nose and smiles at him.

“Hakyeon was doing his job before he met us. It’s how he makes a living, like your writing. I couldn't ask him to stop that and neither could Jaehwan.”

The taxi pulls up and they all climb out. Taekwoon doesn't let Hongbin go, wrapping his arms around Hongbin’s own and keeping him close. He looks nervous and Hongbin frowns at him.

“I feel uneasy,” Taekwoon answers softly. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Don't worry about me.”

Hongbin lets Taekwoon drop his hold and grabs his hand in reassurance. The pianist’s fingers are cold but grounding and Hongbin squeezes them with a smile.

Jaehwan opens the door after Wonshik knocks and pulls them all inside quickly. He glances both ways outside before shutting the door with a soft _click._ Wonshik doesn't get to ask anything before he's kissed, just to shut him up and Jaehwan shakes Hongbin’s hand and tries to force a smile for Taekwoon.

“Hakyeon’s been hurt,” he says and Wonshik runs up the stairs of the flat with Taekwoon behind him, taking the stairs two at a time. They almost trip over each other in their hast and Hongbin follows them up a little more cautiously, taking Jaehwan’s hand despite being strangers.

Hakyeon is sitting on the edge of a king sized bed, undoubtedly Jaehwan’s and he smiles softly up at Wonshik when he comes in. His left eye is bruised, a painful splotchy red. His nose isn't broken but it is bleeding and Wonshik sits down on the ground between his legs and takes the wet cloth, wiping away the blood away.

“Who did this?” Hongbin asks before anyone else came and Hakyeon looks at him, realising who he is.

“Oh, the Northern boy,” he says, ignoring the question as he smiles. “I didn't think you’d meet me again like this.”

Taekwoon was frozen before but he sits on the bed next to Hakyeon and hugs him. Wonshik does too, all of them falling onto the bed with Hakyeon squished underneath. Honghin smiles, despite everything and startles when Jaehwan starts shaking.

“I didn't know-” he starts but Hongbin cups his face and wipes away his tears, shushing him. “I wanted- I couldn't call the bar and ask- This… I couldn't say it over the phone to Wonshik, he’d-”

“Jaehwan,” Hongbin says firmly, pulling him in for a hug. “Whoever did it, they're scum. It doesn't matter anymore.”

“I’ll kill whoever it was,” Wonshik growls. Hakyeon laughs, patting his hair. 

“I’m sure you will, my little hound.” Hakyeon sniffs but regrets it, blanching with pain. Wonshik shoots up, fretting over him but Taekwoon deadweights himself, making Hakyeon laugh again. “You’re think you’d be mindful of me in front of your boy.”

“As if you didn’t try to catch him,” Taekwoon says quietly. Hongbin frowns, rocking Jaehwan in his arms. This isn’t what he thought would happen when Wonshik said they’d go home to his men but with them all there, he sighs with a smile as Jaehwan recovers in his arms.

After some time, when they’re downstairs and puttering around, Hakyeon sighs at Wonshik’s pushing. Taekwoon is making everyone tea and sets them down from the tray, deciding that it’s better to sit in Hongbin’s lap than to sit on the floor. Jaehwan only caters for parties of four, it seems.

“Can you drop it?” Hakyeon says, watching the steam curl up from his tea. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before. It’s what happens outside the brothels.”

“But you-” Wonshik tries to protest but Hakyeon shoots him a glare, shaking his head once.

“I’ll not speak of this,” he says, standing up. Taekwoon looks at his tea and then up at Hakyeon, silent question and the man takes the mug in his hand and walks up the stairs, slowly to not spill it. A door slams and Wonshik puts his face in his hands.

No one speaks. Hongbin wants to compliment Jaehwan’s tea collection but the time isn’t right. Jaehwan is picking at his nails before he stands but Wonshik stops him, running up the stairs in front of him. The businessman sighs, glancing back at Hongbin before sitting back down.

“Should I be scared?” he asks and Taekwoon hums, not in agreement but he doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t move from Hongbin’s grasp.

“Every man is scared,” Hongbin answers. “You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t. But how long has Hakyeon done this? How long before you or Wonshik?” He swallows, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I don’t mean to intrude but-”

“No, it’s quite alright.” Jaehwan laughs, bitter. “It’s better you than Taekwoon, sadly.” He grins when Taekwoon glares at him. “I appreciate the honesty. Hakyeon has been working in brothels since he was seventeen. We met him three years ago but it-” He inhales sharply, his eyes unfocused on the table stop. “I love him too much to see him hurt. I love Wonshik too much to see him hurting for Hakyeon, too.”

Hongbin doesn’t want to play therapist for someone who’s beloveds aren’t even in the room so he keeps quiet and sips his tea. Taekwoon eventually moves from his lap and goes upstairs silently. Jaehwan joins them, leaving Hongbin alone with his tea and he looks around for the moment alone that he has.

It’s Jaehwan’s flat so Jaehwan and his family decorate the pictures on the walls, but there’s a few of Wonshik and Hakyeon, even Taekwoon and people with Jaehwan that Hongbin can’t name. He’s rich, that much is evident, but he’s yet to grow old enough to flaunt it. Even his flat is inexpensive (still better than Hongbin’s), it’s decorated with cheap things. The photos are the only thing not collecting dust on the walls and sideboards. The space is lived in, enough for three and comfortable enough for four.

Hongbin hears talking upstairs and thinks of leaving to give them privacy. He spies his own scarf with the coats and shakes his head, laughing to himself. He hadn’t even realised Taekwoon had worn it here.

He’s on his way out when he catches sight of himself in the mirror before the door, frowning at his reflection. London winds aren’t forgiving to his hair and as he tugs it up into a ponytail at the back of his head, he decides to finally cut it. He’s not nineteen anymore and it’s about time he had a change, as if moving to London wasn’t enough.

There’s footsteps and it’s Taekwoon coming back down, tugging on Hongbin’s lapels when he’s on the floor with him. “Apologies,” he says quietly, eyes on his hands. “It’s… Seeing Hakyeon hurt affects us all.”

Hongbin nods, reaching up to tuck Taekwoon’s necklace back into his shirt. “You love him. I understand.”

“Not like that-”

Hongbin takes Taekwoon’s hands from his lapels and squeezes them before he can defend anything. “I didn’t mean it like that. You love him, simple as that. I felt myself get a little upset before, too, and I barely know him.” He smiles when Taekwoon nods, his cheeks pink. “Telephone me, or shall I see you tomorrow?”

“Nine o’clock,” Taekwoon says, smiling softly. “I’ll come to you. Let me take you out.”

“I should be the one asking you.”

“Am I not a man?” Taekwoon squints at him, a challenge.

“Am I not a man, too?” Hongbin replies, winking when Taekwoon scoffs. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. Good luck to you.”

Taekwoon nods, kissing Hongbin’s cheek again. He’s shy when he comes back, looking up at Hongbin through his eyelashes. He tries to will away his blush but Taekwoon knows; he smiles when Hongbin’s ears have undoubtedly heated up. “Thank you for staying. I’ll make it up to you.”

“I should do nothing more often,” Hongbin laughs but Taekwoon groans and shoves him out the door, bidding him farewell with a wave from the top of the stairs.

 

***

 

Rain hits them in the morning. 

Taekwoon doesn’t give him back his scarf.

All Hongbin wants is coffee and that’s what they get. Taekwoon has to go to the bank and they fall into errands for each other, the simple act of having company making them grin at each other stupidly. After everything is said and done, Taekwoon takes him back to his own flat, one that he used to share with Hakyeon before he moved in with Jaehwan. Wonshik is in the process of moving to Jaehwan’s, too, and Hongbin smiles when he learns that they’ve made up.

“They’re all horrifically stubborn,” Taekwoon curses, his hands practised as he strains the tea for them both. He’s cooking for two and Hongbin is having too much fun just watching him putter around the kitchen, gathering what he needs and sipping his tea as he goes. Neither of them are allergic to anything and Taekwoon ends up cooking too much for just the two of them. He’s skilled in roasts and apparently, Wonshik could eat the whole lamb leg Taekwoon cooks just in one sitting so he makes a note to store some away from him. 

“You mentioned your sister before?” Hongbin says once they sit down in the night, their plates piled. Taekwoon is choosing between peas and carrots before grabbing them both and putting the lid back on the pot to keep them warm.

The pianist smiles when Hongbin asks him. “Yes, her and my nephew live with her husband. My parents live with my eldest sister and her husband. I want to see my nephew soon.” He stirs the gravy again and looks up at Hongbin as he drizzles it on the meat. “Do you have family in Leeds?”

“A sister,” Hongbin answers. “Older. It’s only her and my parents for me, though. I don’t have a big family.” He doesn’t have any cousins that he knows of but it’s not as if he was wishing for any. His family means the world to him, they’re all he has.

Taekwoon hums, the two of them moving through an early dinner easily. He speaks again once Hongbin is almost done. “Jaehwan is the same. Only has his two older brothers and his mother. His eldest brother served, alongside his father, but he was the only one who came back.” He picks at a few lonesome peas on his plate. “It’s… Even now, it’s a hard time.”

“War kills for years even after the bloodshed stops,” Hongbin says. He’s been writing on war for as long as he could remember, the tragedy of it and how it eats hearts until there’s nothing left. His friends didn’t serve and yet they’re plagued by it in way they don’t understand. It hurts to see others hurting for so long, hurts to see them suffer in a mutual reality of pain and devastation.

Taekwoon nods to his words, laughing once. “You have a way of saying things, I’ve noticed. You really are a writer.” He smiles when Hongbin frowns at him. “Don’t be daft and tell me you’re not good. Just from the way you talk, it’s obvious that you have a way with language. Poetic, in the most tragic of ways.”

“It doesn’t always end in tragedy,” Hongbin defends.

“Then you must let me read it, Mister Lee,” Taekwoon laughs, standing up to take away their plates. Hongbin watches his go, looking up at him as Taekwoon cleans around him. He’s not stupid; his work is far from bad but he wouldn’t give himself credit when he could give it to others. He’s still young, journalism being his dream but writing poetry for the playwrights to read in their spare time or for his books to be a maiden’s lost love… He isn't quite there yet. He won't be there for some time.

“I'll send you a copy when I’m published.”

Taekwoon laughs from the kitchen but returns to him, taking him to the couch. He doesn't speak, knowing Hongbin is thinking and waits him out. He sighs when Hongbin speaks.

“It’s been almost three months.”

Taekwoon doesn't look at him with pity. His gaze is something Hongbin sees as regretful, something sorrowful. “You know… You know how hard it is to get published, Hongbin.”

“I’m still young,” he says, looking down. “They won't have me for a few more years.”

“They're fools not to,” Taekwoon says, defiant. “What little I have read of you, I know it to be fantastic. You have talent, Hongbin. It takes time for people to open their eyes.”

“Yours were open.” Hongbin sits back in the couch, staring at the ceiling. “How did you see me and no one else?”

“Because I know what it’s like to be shoved aside.” Taekwoon moves, sitting close to him. He's now in Hongbin’s lap but his arms wrap around his shoulders and their chests touch, Taekwoon seeking comfort for Hongbin. “I was kicked around for years until I landed that bar gig. I’m still being kicked around. But money is money and I'll not waste away while there's music to be sung.” He looks up at Hongbin and the writer smiles at him.

“That was a good line,” he says quietly and Taekwoon rolls his eyes and finally kisses him.

It’s not poetic. There’s no fireworks to accompany them or anything that the silent films show but Hongbin can’t help but smile against Taekwoon’s lips. It brings a fire in him he’s never felt and with Taekwoon with him, smiling back against his mouth, Hongbin starts to laugh. He’s only been here three months, getting by with some extra money his grandfather left him in the banks and what money he can find from sweeping people’s porches and somehow, even with everything he’s struggled with, he’s happy.

He worries a lot, whether he’ll have to go back to Leeds once his luck runs out but he’ll hold onto London as long as he can, hold onto the beautiful pianist he saw on his eighth night here. Taekwoon isn’t a miracle worker, he doesn’t heal people’s hearts but he plays the sad songs no one listens to anymore just to give them hope of the better times. His ballads are an artwork that no one wants to look at while they’re happy but Hongbin could stare at it all day, his writer’s instinct telling him the hidden messages and the sorrowful metaphors. He can create something beautiful just from Taekwoon’s existence, just from his practise. Taekwoon plays a melody on his heart, makes his fingers hold the pen and makes him write page after page about the winter of London, the nights he spends in his broom storage flat. There’s a story to every poet, to every writer’s beginning, and Hongbin has been writing stories since he could hold a pen.

Now, he writes a story of Taekwoon, the bar singer songwriter pianist who stole a writer’s heart and played its keys until the writer opened up and sang for him. 

Once he stops laughing just to gaze at Taekwoon, the pianist’s fingers tangled in his too long hair, Hongbin leans their foreheads together and closes his eyes. Taekwoon plays with the hair at his nape and he smiles again.

“I should cut it,” Hongbin says, casually.

Taekwoon hums, spying his hair. “Maybe just a little. You look handsome.”

Hongbin looks up at him through his fringe, closing his eyes when Taekwoon rakes his hair back from his face. He kisses back when Taekwoon catches him by surprise, letting Taekwoon explore as much as he wants so long as it means he gets to stay here a little longer.

Taekwoon hums after a while, kissing down Hongbin’s jaw and neck. He doesn’t leave any marks but Hongbin distantly wishes he would. He doesn’t rush anything, nor force it and Taekwoon kisses him sweetly after a while, finally moving into his lap and straddling his hips.

“Would you believe me if I said I’ve fancied you since I first saw you?” Hongbin says, hands on Taekwoon’s hips. He doesn’t squeeze or grab, just comfortable between the two of them.

Taekwoon smiles, that beautiful soft quirk of his lips before his eyes crinkle and he cups Hongbin’s face. “I cannot lie and say I wasn’t the same. Something about you and how we spent all night together, even in the rain, made me want to do it all over again.”

Hongbin grins at him, pecking him once, twice, pulling him closer. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you when you played. I just thought, ‘Who is this man and why is no one else infatuated with him?’”

Taekwoon flushes, turning away from him but he doesn’t untangle himself from Hongbin’s hold. After a while, they just lay down on the couch together, like the first night they spent together only this is Taekwoon’s flat and Hongbin has nowhere to be in the morning. 

Nothing changes, really. Only when they both return to whoever’s house, there’s more kisses and hushed whispers against each other’s mouths. Hakyeon catches on first, then Wonshik and Jaehwan. Sanghyuk learns of it when he sneaks into Hongbin’s flat and finds Taekwoon asleep and shirtless while Hongbin is in the ensuite.

“Should I be concerned?” he asks, making Hongbin glance over at him. The thief grins, handing Hongbin some notes and the writer blinks at it, frowning.

“For letting me come through,” Sanghyuk says, smiling. “I won’t ask, but I… I appreciate it and I don’t want you to leave.”

Hongbin stares at him, surprised. He’s never touched Sanghyuk, really, but he pulls him in for a hug even though he’s half naked and a little sweaty. Sanghyuk hugs him back and neither of them talk about how Sanghyuk knows about his finances.

Hongbin does eventually land a job at a newspaper gig. He’s only an editor, working under mentors but it’s simple enough for him to edit what gets sent to him and clear off his work quickly during the day while he’s at the office. It’s not a lot of money, but it’s money, like Taekwoon always says, and once he’s clocked off, he’s down at the bar to watch Taekwoon play.

Wonshik’s music begins to take off and he becomes a radio host for the BBC. He’s only on for an hour during the night. Not everyone listens but Taekwoon, Hongbin and Hakyeon will listen at the bar, turning it up when the jazz springs up and Hakyeon will dance until he’s in fits and the bartenders just want to go home. Because of the scene and the plays, Hakyeon studies again and instead of working in brothels, he joins the girls on stage to perform in bars or in the street. Jaehwan still keeps to his old money but invests in stocks, peeking his marketing interest. Wonshik plays the music Hakyeon loves on the radio and Jaehwan, when he’s not busy which isn’t too often, comes down to twirl and dip him until Wonshik finishes and takes over. 

Sanghyuk joins their group after a while, taking a liking to Wonshik immediately and he tries to steal Hakyeon’s wallet but the dancer catches him before anything can arise. He fits in like the missing piece they needed. When they hear Wonshik says _This is London calling,_ they cheer and begin to pack up for the night.

Hongbin doesn’t go back to Leeds for some time. When he does, it’s not with empty pockets and a hung head. He returns to hug his sister, mindful of her belly and smiles at his parents when they ask him how everything was, favouring to hear it from his mouth rather than over the telephone. Taekwoon is at the train station for him when he returns every time, hugging him tightly and taking him home. Sanghyuk will leave him some cash every month for letting him through his apartment and one time, he had to leave him money for the time he broke his window while Hongbin was in Leeds.

He doesn’t get published immediately and that’s okay. Taekwoon reads his poetry and writes his lyrics from Hongbin’s lines and performs it with his beautiful piano and Hongbin watches him with a smile and hands him his whiskey when he’s done. They’ve changed; Hongbin has cut his hair and Taekwoon has too but he still likes it long. He can still put it up if he wants to but Hongbin is clean cut and more mature, freshly twenty-three and when they’re alone, Hongbin braids what he can of Taekwoon’s hair.

“Should I wear it often?” he asks when Hongbin has French braided one side of his head. Hongbin smiles at him and Taekwoon stands from the floor and cuddles Hongbin to the bed, on top of him and content.

“If you like it, then you should,” Hongbin replies, his hands under Taekwoon’s shirt to warm him up. It’s not always winter in London but it sure does last a long bloody time. Autumn is slipping into December.

Taekwoon hums, sitting up just so he can kiss Hongbin softly. “If I like it, I’ll have to grow my hair out again.”

“Then it’s a good thing you like it,” Hongbin smiles, kissing him again.

Whether it’s Leeds or Brighton or wherever, there will be a story of a writer who fell in love with a pianist after the war struck England with tragedy. No one has to know, for there’s no written history of the writer from the North who struggled with his wages before he met a thief, no story of a dancer who laid with the night time radio host and a businessman made from his parent’s money. There’s no story in the history books of the pianist who made the women cry in the bars, who drinks the whiskey the writer keeps cold for him once his show is done.

It may not be in the history books, but it is in the writer’s soul, in the pianist’s lyrics. It’s in the night time radio host’s laugh when he talks of the news, in the businessman’s cigar laiden breath as he talks to men thirty years his senior. It’s in the dancer’s voice as he moves with the girls on stage to the music that was never written for him but he makes his own.

London isn’t always dark and dismal. It houses dreams for the lonely boys who grew into friendly men with no money in their hand me down pockets and lets them be free.

Lee Hongbin knows London like a lover, one that will never let him go without a tender caress and a smack on the wrist. He learns from the mistakes he makes and London is his clarity.

London doesn’t stop weeping but the people want the Lady to be safe again.

Hongbin wants his heart, that belongs to the Lady herself, to be protected.

With Taekwoon, the pianist from Brighton, he is safe.

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is appreciated !


End file.
